one hundred sixty-six

Oh, this is getting rough. The headache's worsening, I'm really spacy, and I'm starting to feel like Susan Sarandon in The Hunger, after the sex and just before Catherine Denueve makes her kill her boyfriend to brink his blood. Drink his blood. All through class tonight, I was trying to pay attention to what Jill was saying, but it all came out sounding like the names of candy bars. Now we're going to do Arabic into MilkyWay. Or now do two chest circles with level changes and KitKats. Eight counts of Tunisian traveling step and then Reese'sPeanutButterCups.

If I didn't think I had a sugar addiction before, well, we've got the answer to that, now don't we? Ohhh, my head.